


Monsters

by thatssoravenreyes



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatssoravenreyes/pseuds/thatssoravenreyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted as a series of oneshots on fanfiction.net, but posted under the series title as a chapter fic here (it's easier to organise). Based around the characters of Sam Winchester and Jennifer 'JJ' Jareau. </p><p>Sam Winchester has run away from home many times. In the early 90's in northern Pennsylvania, he runs to a town called Mars, where he is taken in by a young boy's family.</p><p>**May be updated soon!! (Summer 2016ish)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Criminal Minds or any of the characters. I also do not own the video game Fallout. Nothing is mine, and this is for entertainment purposes only.  
> My knowledge of Fallout is limited to later games in the series, so I apologise if there are any glaring mistakes in the short reference to that game in this fic.

The park was cold at night.  
Sam shivered, pulling his knees further in, and making sure the too-large coat was completely covering his body. The bench wasn't the best place to sleep – he'd take a bed, if he could – but it was the best he had for now.  
He wondered about his dad, and about Dean. John Winchester probably hadn't even realised his son was missing yet – he was probably busy hunting down whatever it was killing people here. Dean, too. Dean had dropped out of high school around the end of January that year, not even bothering to graduate. It didn't really matter, he'd said. Saving people was more important than education. Hunting things was more important than knowledge. The family business was more important than Sam's dream of a normal life. More important than Sam's life.  
Dean had gone with their dad on this hunt, leaving Sam alone. And Sam had left. After Six Flags, after Rochester and that little, insignificant town in Alabama, Sam had been surprised they hadn't seen it coming. He'd run away before. He'd made it painstakingly clear that he did not want to carry on with “the family business.” He wanted a future. A life of his own. And he knew he wasn't going to get it by staying with his family.  
Sam shivered again. The ice-cold wind pressed against his face, and he closed his eyes. He might as well try to sleep, he figured. Overthinking his situation was not going to help.  
It was a long night.  
.  
“Hey! Red! C'mon!”  
Sam's eyes fought him in his attempt to open them.  
“Red! C'mere, boy, c'mere!”  
A dog barked. Sam shifted his weight a little, so he was sitting on the bench rather than lying in his somewhat awkward sleeping position. He pulled the fabric of the coat around him, his fingers fumbling in the cold as he did so.  
“Hey!” the voice called. “Kid!”  
Sam turned to face the stranger. They were about the same age, but the other boy had short, blond hair and a warm-looking red jacket. His cheeks were tinted ruby by the cold, reminding Sam of the Christmas cards he saw in shop windows every December. He often wondered if they were an accurate depiction of a normal life, but then there was no way he could ever know. No way his life would ever be normal.  
“You okay, kid?”  
Sam nodded. The stranger walked closer, yanking his dog's lead to bring the small, red-brown terrier with him. The dog rolled over on the frosted ground before running after the blond boy.  
“Did you sleep here?” he asked as he reached Sam's bench, taking in the almost-frozen boy who held the coat around his body like it was a matter of life or death. “Jeez, kid, I wouldn't be surprised if you caught pneumonia.”  
Sam just looked at him, unsure what to say.  
The blond boy sighed. “I'm Eddie,” he told Sam. “You?”  
“Sam.”  
“Sam,” Eddie repeated, nodding. “Where d'you live, Sam?”  
The darker-haired boy shrugged. “We don't really have a house,” he told Eddie. “We move around a lot.”  
Eddie frowned and sat down next to Sam on the bench. Red jumped up next to him. “We?” he questioned.  
“My dad, brother, and me,” Sam clarified. “They're off... Hunting.”  
“And they just left you here?” Eddie asked, slightly horrified. Sam shrugged; it was close enough to the truth. They had left him alone at the motel in Beaver Falls, and he'd hiked to this tiny town the night before, but those were details.  
“Look, Sam,” Eddie continued. “I can't leave you out here – you'll freeze to death! I'm sure my parents won't mind you staying at ours for a bit, before we figure some stuff out.”  
“You don't have to -” Sam began.  
“I know,” said Eddie. “Just let me.”  
.  
Sam poked at the food set out in front of him – ham sandwiches, quickly put together by Eddie's mother after he'd convinced her that he didn't want to go to the police station – and then picked one up and took a bite.  
“How long have you been out there?” the woman asked.  
Sam shrugged. “Just last night.” He took another bite. Eddie's mother smiled as she watched him eat.  
“Your family left you?” she questioned.  
Sam swallowed. “Sort of. They went hunting.”  
“Hunting?” someone asked. “Like bears?”  
A girl, very like Eddie in looks, but a few years younger, was standing in the doorway, wearing blue jeans and a pale green top. She was staring at Sam inquisitively.  
Sam nodded. “Yeah. Like bears.”  
“Who are you?” the girl demanded.  
“JJ,” her mother warned. “Be polite.”  
JJ rolled her eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “Please may I know who you are, strange person in our dining room?”  
Grinning, Sam told her. “I'm Sam Winchester.”  
“Jennifer Jareau,” the girl responded. “Most people call me JJ. I just started middle school.”  
“Sophomore year,” Sam replied.  
JJ smiled. “Like Eddie,” she told him. “My sister's older than him, though. She's in Senior year.”  
“So was my brother,” said Sam, “until he stopped going to school.”  
Eddie's mother cut in then. “Sam,” she said, “please finish your sandwiches. It would make me feel better, knowing you've got some food inside you.”  
.  
Since it was Saturday – Sam had made sure to disappear at the weekend so that the school in Beaver Falls wouldn't call his dad until Monday – nobody had school, though Henry Jareau, Eddie's dad, did have to work. He was the only member of the family Sam hadn't met in his first hour in the house.  
Eddie had tried to get Sam to play some game with him, but Sam had become disinterested after a few minutes. Fallout was far too much like Sam's own life – too much about weapons and having a rubbish life and killing various strange creatures before they killed you.  
Now Sam was wandering around the house, wondering what he could do. Without realising it, he walked straight into the elder sister, Rosa.  
“Hey, watch it, kiddo,” she told him. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Sam? You okay?”  
Sam nodded. He was okay. No worse than usual.  
“You look kinda sad,” she told him. “You wanna talk?”  
He shrugged.  
“Come on,” Rosa said. “Come in my room.”  
She ushered him into a room that was decorated in beige and blue, and sat him down on the end of her bed. Her room was larger than Eddie's, but only slightly, and where Eddie had a computer, Rosa had a bookcase.  
“Talk to me,” Rosa ordered.  
Sam just looked down. “I don't have anything I want to say,” he told her.  
“Really?”  
He sighed. “Okay. I guess... I'm worried about my brother. Dad gets angry sometimes, and Dean -” He swallowed. “I mean, Dean's never had to go to hospital because of Dad, but – I'm just worried that me running away might make Dad angry somehow.”  
“Running away?” Rosa echoed. “I thought they left you behind.”  
“They did,” Sam admitted. “In a motel in Beaver Falls.”  
Rosa stared at him for a long moment. Eventually she quietly asked, “Has your dad ever hit you?”  
“No,” Sam told her. “He, uh, he gets angry at Dean mostly. For not looking after me.”  
“Why did you run away, then?” she questioned. There was hardly a pause between his words and hers this time.  
Sam stared at her cream-coloured carpet. “It's complicated,” he said. “I guess I just – wasn't happy?” He said it like a question.  
“Why?” Rosa pressed.  
He shrugged, thinking for a moment. “Misunderstandings,” he summarised.  
Rosa bit her lip. “I know what that's like,” she said.  
“You do?” He looked up at her for the first time in the conversation. Her blue eyes met his dark ones.  
She nodded. “Yeah. I mean, nothing like you, of course. Just... My friends at school argue a lot, and they all end up turning on me somehow. And at home, it's almost like I'm invisible.”  
There was a long moment of silence between them.  
“Do you ever get the feeling that nobody cares?” Sam asked quietly. “That you could just disappear, and... That would be it. You'd just be gone, and nobody would notice.”  
Rosa nodded, understanding. “All the time.”  
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Me too.”  
Silence floated between them, coated in understanding and sympathy. The silence was long.  
“Except,” Rosa said eventually. “JJ. I can't leave her.”  
Sam glanced over at her. “JJ?”  
Nodding, Rosa continued, “She cares. She doesn't know. But she cares. That's why I haven't...you know...yet. I know she'll miss me. Nobody else will, but... I can't ruin her life, Sam.”  
Sam looked down. “Nobody cares about me,” he said.  
.  
It was late afternoon when Henry Jareau returned home from work.  
“Hey, Jaje,” he said, grinning as his eleven-year-old daughter launched herself at him for a hug. “You had a good day, sweetheart?”  
JJ nodded. “Dad, meet Sammy.” She'd taken to using that name for him sometime around lunch. He'd told her off for it, mainly because it reminded him of Dean, but she'd insisted on using it. “He's homeless.”  
Henry raised his eyebrows. “And he's in our house because...”  
“Eddie found him while he was out walking Red this morning,” Sandy, the mother, told her husband. “I wanted to take him along to the police station, but he didn't want to.”  
Henry looked down at Sam. “We can't keep you here, kid.”  
“I told him that,” Sandy said. “He says his dad and brother are on a hunting trip, and they just left him.”  
“He ran away,” Rosa said from the doorway, where she stood separated from the rest of the family. “That's what he told me.”  
Sam glared at her.  
“Hey, listen,” she said to him. “From what you told me, your dad and brother love you. A lot. So you should go back to them... Sammy.”  
Sam rolled his eyes at the use of the nickname. “I don't -” he began, but Henry interrupted him.  
“In that case, we should get you along to the police station. Your dad and brother are probably very worried about you, Sammy.”  
Sandy sighed, assuming Sam had lied to her about his family leaving to hide the fact he'd run away. “Come on, young man,” she said, holding out her hand to him. “Let's get you home.”  
Sam looked down. “Can I go say bye to Eddie first?”  
Sandy nodded, and Sam rushed upstairs.  
“Hey!” Eddie complained as Sam burst into his room, but then he looked up and, realising who it was, paused his game. “You okay?”  
“I'm leaving,” Sam informed him.  
Eddie blinked. “Oh.”  
“So. Um. I guess I should be saying goodbye.” Sam fiddled with his jacket zip as he said the words.  
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” He paused, and then – as if he had suddenly thought of something – jumped up from his chair and ran to the shelf beside his bed. “Here. Take this.”  
“I can't -” Sam began.  
Eddie pressed the small object into his hand. “Just take it, Sam. I want you to have it.”  
Sam stared at him. “Why?” he questioned.  
Shrugging, Eddie said, “It's just a present, Sam. Something I want to give you.”  
“Okay,” Sam agreed, giving up. “Bye, Eddie.”  
“Bye,” the blond boy said, smiling in farewell. They nodded at each other awkwardly, and Sam returned the smile before he walked out of Eddie's room and shut the door behind him.  
He looked down at the object in his hand.  
It was a young boy's toy, a stiff plastic figure of a soldier painted green. The soldier's gun was missing, leaving a jagged mark where it had broken off.  
It was nothing. A memory of Eddie's, a cheap, broken toy, but Sam grinned at it, because it, more than anything, meant someone cared.  
.  
He was still staring at the broken soldier when Rosa came upstairs. She went into her bedroom, and came out seconds later with her hands clasped around something. Seeing Sam, she walked over and hugged him.  
“Thank you, Sam,” she said.  
“For what?” Sam questioned, but Rosa had already walked away. She entered her younger sister's room, and a moment later Sam heard an excited squeal. JJ must have come up while he was in Eddie's room...  
Curious, Sam considered entering JJ's room as well, but as he was walking towards it, Rosa came out. She shut the door softly behind her, curled her hands up into fists, and looked at Sam.  
“What was that about?” he inquired.  
Rosa looked at him for a minute or so, and Sam wondered whether he'd said something wrong, but then Rosa uncurled her fists and said, “My necklace.”  
“Your...?”  
She shook her head. “Goodbye Sam. Be happy.” And, patting him on the shoulder, she disappeared into her bedroom. The door made a soft thudding noise behind her.  
.  
“Sam! Come on!” Henry Jareau called from downstairs.  
Sam went.  
He wasn't looking forward to returning to Dean and his dad, but it wasn't like he had a choice. He never had a choice.  
.  
Many years later...  
.  
“The Winchesters,” Hotch said, and two pictures appeared on the board behind him. “Sam and Dean, on a killing spree across the US. They started in Jericho, California, and so far they've also killed at Black Water Ridge in Colorado, and Lake Manitoc in Wisconsin. They've killed thirty-two people so far, of all genders, ages, races and social backgrounds, and it doesn't appear they're interested in stopping.”  
“So they're spree killers,” Morgan said.  
“Who usually end with suicide by cop,” Prentiss added.  
JJ stared at the picture on the left. Sam Winchester... The memory was just a faint echo in her mind now; the memory of the boy who her brother had brought home with him one day. A boy who'd just started Sophomore year, a boy who's dad and brother had left him behind on a hunting trip.  
She wondered what she would have done, at the time, if she had known what kind of hunting they were talking about.  
It was hard to imagine the young boy who'd run away from his family on a spree killing with his brother. It was hard to imagine Sam killing at all. He'd seemed so innocent, so lost and confused, in the one day she'd known him.  
“You okay, JJ?” Rossi asked.  
She nodded, looking around. They needed to know. “Sam won't end with suicide by cop,” she told them.  
“What makes you say that?” Reid asked.  
“He, uh,” she began. “When he was fifteen, he ran away from Dean and their dad. Eddie found him on a bench at the park while he was walking our dog. Sam said they'd left him behind to go on a hunting trip, but later on he told my sister that he'd run away. My dad... He insisted on taking Sam to the police station, taking him back to his family.”  
“He ran away,” Hotch muttered.  
Morgan spoke up. “So, what? You think Dean and their dad were forcing Sam to...take part in their fun? Or that Dean's manipulating him somehow?”  
“I don't know,” JJ admitted. “It's just...the Sam I knew wasn't a killer. I don't know what happened to him – I hardly know anything about him – but he was a good person.”  
“Was,” Rossi echoed.  
Was, JJ repeated in her mind. She wondered if, had her father not insisted on taking Sam back to his family, that was could have been an is, if Sam could have turned out to be a completely different person. A good person, like he was before.  
“Was,” she agreed, wondering if she should second guess he statememnt that Sam wouldn't end in the usual way for spree killers.  
After all, he wasn't the boy she'd called Sammy any more.


	2. Spree

“So we've got a pair of evil doppelgangers, we're most likely at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list,” Dean said, “and you want to call an old friend?”  
Sam shrugged. “I guess. It was just an idea.”  
“Is it gonna get the FBI off our trail?” Dean asked. “Because we really don't need to be focusing on anything else right now.”  
“The, uh, the friend I'm calling is an FBI agent,” Sam told him.  
Dean stared at Sam like he'd gone batshit crazy. “An FBI agent,” he repeated. Sam really had gone off his rocker. No FBI agent would want to get a call from them now, and definitely no FBI agent would help the Winchesters if they did call.  
“Look,” Sam said, “I know it sounds crazy. But JJ used to be the media liason for her department – she can stop the press getting hold of the story.”  
Dean frowned. “Sam, we heard about this on the news. The press already know.”  
“Not that story,” Sam clarified. “The story of our arrest.”  
Shaking his head, Dean sighed. How could being arrested help them? Then they'd have to stand trial, and there was no way they'd get anything less than the death penalty. Not with these charges.  
“If the press don't know about our arrest,” Sam continued, “then how would the Leviathans know?”  
.  
“Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said, and the team filtered out of the conference room. JJ went to get her coat from where she'd left it on the back of her desk chair, and as she put it on, her phone began to ring.  
“Jareau,” she recited automatically as she answered it.  
“JJ,” he said, “it's Sam Winchester.”  
JJ froze. Sam was calling her? Why? What reason could he possibly have for this? Spree killers didn't care about contact with the press, the police, anyone, and the Winchesters had never been the taunting type.  
“Sam,” she whispered.  
Prentiss and Reid, who were nearby, looked up as JJ said the name. Prentiss drifted closer to where her colleague was standing, wondering if she should do anything, as Reid disappeared to find Garcia and get her to track the call.  
“I have a deal for you,” Sam told JJ.  
JJ frowned. This definitely did not fit the profile. “A deal?” she echoed.  
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Look, Dean and I – we're good at escaping. You probably know by now that we've got partners, and they're pretty good at helping us disappear. If you tell anyone about this – other than anyone who absolutely needs to know – then we go. Understand?”  
After thinking about Sam's words for a moment, JJ said, “I don't think I follow.”  
“We're turning ourselves in,” Sam said. “We're gonna let you arrest us.”  
That, JJ thought, pretty much threw the profile out of the window.  
.  
Prentiss, Reid and Hotch had gone to Lake Manitoc to keep up the appearance that, in fact, the BAU had no clue where the Winchesters were. JJ, Rossi and Morgan had headed to a warehouse in Chesapeake Bay, where Sam had told JJ to meet them.  
“This is probably a trap, JJ,” Morgan warned her.  
JJ shook her head. “I don't think so,” she said. “I think Sam was desperate for something, and I think he thinks he'll get it this way somehow.”  
Rossi and Morgan glanced at each other, and then Rossi pushed the door open. It swung away from them, creaking slightly, revealing the dark warehouse interior behind it.  
“Sam and Dean Winchester,” JJ called. “Come where we can see you. Hands up.”  
It was Sam who appeared first, his hands above his head, and no gun visible around his waist. Dean followed behind him a few seconds later.  
“Hey, JJ,” Sam said, nodding towards the grown-up version of a girl he'd known for a day, a long time ago. She nodded back as Morgan secured the handcuffs around his wrists, and then checked for a gun whilst reading him his rights. Rossi did the same for Dean.  
“No press?” Dean asked.  
JJ nodded. “We made sure. Nobody's gonna know about this.”  
.  
Upon arrival at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Sam and Dean were immediately separated and placed in separate rooms. Rossi had called Hotch to let them know the brothers were in custody, and to remind Hotch not to let Morris and Valente – the FBI agents working the Winchester case alongside them – know about the deal.  
After waiting a few hours to increase the Winchesters' anxiety, Morgan decided to question the elder brother, Dean, to see if he could get the man to confess to something, and Rossi went with him, leaving JJ with Sam.  
“Hello, Sam,” she said, shutting the door behind her. She sat in the chair opposite Sam's, placing the rather thick file on the table in front of her.  
“JJ,” Sam greeted. “It's been a long time.”  
JJ nodded. “Very long.”  
A pause, stretched out to cover several minutes, interrupted their conversation.  
“The press don't know?” Sam questioned eventually, just to check.  
JJ shook her head. “There are about ten people who know you're here,” she told him. “I don't think any of them will tell anyone. You're safe.”  
Sam nodded. “Good. Thank you.”  
Another pause muted their words. Again, it was Sam who spoke first, but now his words came out uncertain and hesitant. “I, uh, I was wondering about the others. Eddie and Rosa. I don't know what happened to them – I mean, I only knew you were FBI because you were on the news.”  
JJ looked down. “Eddie's fine. He lives in the city now – in Pittsburgh. He's a University lecturer there. History.”  
Sam nodded. “He's happy?”  
“Yeah,” JJ said softly, “I think he is.”  
“And Rosa?” Sam pressed. “Is she happy, too?”  
JJ studied Sam's face for a moment. “I hope so,” she told him eventually. “I hope she's in a better place now.”  
“Rosa's dead?” Sam asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes widening. He remembered Rosa talking to him, sitting him down on her bed. He remembered her saying how JJ cared, but didn't know. And he remembered her hug, just before he left, and that mysterious thank you he'd wondered about for years.  
“The morning after you left,” JJ said, her eyes not meeting Sam's. The sadness in her voice was almost unbearable. “She was in the bath – she cut her wrists -”  
“I'm sorry,” Sam said quietly.  
.  
“An agent from the FBI, who we cannot name, has informed us that the Winchesters have been apprehended and are being held at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia...”  
.  
“Dammit,” Prentiss said, hitting the mute button. “Who leaked that?”  
“No way to know,” Reid said. “Someone who knew could've told someone who wasn't supposed to know, who in turn leaked it to the press. It could be anyone at Quantico.”  
Just then, Morris and Valente came in to the room. They'd been working on the Winchester case from the first shooting in California, but when the killing had escalated and they hadn't come any closer to catching the brothers, they'd decided to call in some help.  
“You seen the news?” Prentiss inquired.  
Morris shook his head. “No. Listen, there's been another shooting. A diner in St. Louis, Missouri. They forced a kid to video it.”  
Reid raised his eyebrows. “That's -”  
“Reid,” Hotch said, cutting the younger agent off. “Thank you, Morris.”  
Morris nodded to them, and left the room. After he shut the door behind him, Prentiss said, “That's impossible.”  
Hotch nodded, pulling out his phone and dialling Rossi's number as he said, “This might be why the Winchesters didn't want the press to know they were in our custody. They're proving to us that it's not them out there.” He pressed a button on his phone and then said, “Rossi, you're on speaker.”  
“You too,” Rossi said. “Listen, we have a problem. Morgan caught the news report on the TV, and he called JJ and me out to watch it. By the time we got back to the interrogation rooms, Sam and Dean were gone.”  
“How long ago?” Hotch questioned.  
“About five minutes,” JJ answered. “We were about to call you.”  
“Can't get to Missouri in five minutes,” Prentiss said.  
Reid's eyebrows knotted together. “This doesn't make any sense,” he muttered. “If the Winchesters only escaped five minutes ago, it's impossible that they managed to get to St. Louis in that time, even without factoring in time for them to kill the people in that diner, and then for the news to reach us. It just doesn't make sense.”  
“There's been another shooting?” JJ questioned.  
“St. Louis, Missouri,” Hotch told her. “They forced a kid in a diner to video them.”  
There was a long pause. Questions bounced silently around the room, the answers impossible.  
“That was Sam Winchester in that interrogation room,” JJ said eventually. “He couldn't have been in that diner, nor could Dean. Someone's setting them up.”  
“How?” Morgan asked. “How would you pull that off?”  
“I don't know,” JJ admitted, “but it's the only possible explanation.”  
.  
“The Winchesters are dead,” Hotch said, walking into the room the St. Louis Police Department had given them to set up. “They were sighted and arrested in Ankeny, Iowa. By the time Morris and Valente got there, they were dead.”  
“They're dead?” JJ questioned.  
“Or the imposters are,” Morgan reminded her.  
“Maybe now we'll be able to find out how they're doing it,” Reid muttered hopefully. The whole thing had baffled him since they'd found out about the Missouri shooting, and he wasn't used to being baffled. He was used to having all the answers.  
Hotch shook his head. “Ankeny PD already sent the bodies to the crematorium. They've been destroyed – apparently as per the brothers' wills and religious requirements.”  
“Religious requirements?” JJ repeated. “Sam was Christian. They usually bury, not cremate.”  
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe the imposters had different religious requirements,” he suggested.  
“Either way,” Hotch said, “Morris and Valente closed the case. We'll be leaving for Quantico in the morning.”  
.  
JJ was sat alone in her hotel room, turning her phone over and over in her hand, trying to ignore the part of her brain that worried that Sam Winchester was actually dead. A knock startled her, and she jumped out of her chair, dropping the phone in surprise, before crossing the room to open the door.  
“Hey,” Prentiss said, “you okay?”  
JJ nodded.  
“Can I come in?”  
“Sure,” JJ told her, opening the door wider to allow her friend in. She shut the door behind her, and turned to find Prentiss studying her face.  
“Talk to me,” her friend requested.  
JJ pressed her lips together. “I don't know what to think,” she admitted. “I know Sam was innocent of the spree, at least, but the FBI have been after them for years. Remember Henrikson?”  
Prentiss nodded. “He was set on finding them. It was almost like a vendetta,” she remembered. “And they supposedly died in that explosion.”  
JJ nodded. “And then suddenly this spree starts, four years later,” she said. “But what about the other crimes? The original St. Louis murders? And Tony and Karen Giles in Baltimore? What if Sam really is a killer?”  
“It was Dean who was caught at the scene in St. Louis,” Prentiss reminded her softly. “And Dean was the one with Karen Giles' blood on his hands. There's no evidence to suggest Sam ever killed anyone.”  
“But he helped Dean,” JJ countered reluctantly.  
Prentiss thought about that for a moment. “Sam left Stanford with his brother right after his girlfriend died,” she said. “He would have been emotional. Vulnerable, even. Dean could have taken advantage of that and manipulated him into helping him. And you said he ran away before.” She looked over at her friend. “JJ, everything points to Sam not wanting to be a part of this,” she said. “Most likely Dean's manipulating him somehow, because he doesn't want to be alone.”  
JJ nodded. “So Sam's not a killer,” she muttered.  
Prentiss nodded, glancing at her watch and standing up. “Yeah. He'd probably be a good man if it wasn't for his brother,” she said. “I'm going to go get some sleep. You should, too.”  
With that, Prentiss left. JJ watched the door slam shut behind her, and then looked around the room. She noticed the phone lying by the chair, where she'd dropped it earlier, and went to pick it up.  
The nagging feeling in the back of her mind was still there, from before Prentiss had come in. So what if Sam was dead? He was a killer's accomplice. She shouldn't care about him.  
And yet, she did.  
She knew that, most likely, it was the imposters that had died in Ankeny; the Winchesters had hardly had time to get there, especially since it was unlikely they'd take a plane when everyone was looking out for their faces. But still, it was a possibility that Sam was dead.  
JJ flipped open her phone to find the unknown number that had called her only days ago, and pressed the call button. Holding it to her ear, she let it ring, and ring...  
Sam did not pick up.  
.  
Several hundred miles away, on a country lane in the middle of nowhere, Sam's phone was ringing. He had it in his hand, staring at JJ's name on the screen, and wondering whether he should answer.  
“You gonna get that?” Dean asked, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look over at Sam, who shrugged.  
“It's JJ,” he told his elder brother.  
Dean raised his eyebrows. “I swear the FBI's supposed to think we're dead.”  
“Look, JJ knows we didn't kill those people,” Sam said. “She's not gonna tell everyone we're alive.”  
Dean twisted the wheel as the road turned sharply. “Look, Sam,” he said, “she's gonna want an explanation. You answer that call, you drag her into our world. Do you really want that?”


	3. Hunt

JJ stared at the photo of herself and Rosa in front of her, and fiddled with the thin chain of her sister's necklace. Tomorrow marked the anniversary of the day she had found her sister lying bloody in their bathtub, cold and dead after her suicide.

She closed her eyes, remembering, and then abruptly opened them again to force away the painful memories. Wrapping her hand around the necklace, she slipped it into her pocket, stood up from her desk and started tidying up the files and paperwork in preparation to return home, although it was nearly fifteen minutes until she was supposed to leave. She needed to do something to ward away the images ingrained in her mind.

"BAU," Hotch's voice called, suddenly. "Conference room! Now!"

Sighing, JJ put down the report from their last case in Rochester, New York, and headed towards the conference room. It looked like she wasn't going home tonight... Which meant she wouldn't see Will or Henry for at least another few days. Great. That was just what she needed, especially right now.

"Four people have been murdered over the past three months," Hotch said as she entered the room, gesturing towards the pictures on the board. Three males, one female. All different in physique – the female was caucasian with blonde hair; there was one male caucasian with brown hair. Of the other two males, one was African American, and the other was Asian.

Hotch continued. "The first victim, Jason Hays -" he gestured to the African American "- was killed on the twentieth of August in Los Angeles. Marcus Ellis was killed around three weeks later, on the ninth of September, in Tallahassee. On the twenty-ninth of September, Monica Clarke was murdered in New Orleans. And finally, Seo Yun Jung was killed two days ago, on the twenty-seventh of October, in Rochester, New York."

Blake raised her eyebrows. "We just came back from Rochester," she pointed out.

"Actually," Reid said, a worried-looking expression on his face, "on the twentieth of August we were investigating the stabbing of three actors in Los Angeles. On the ninth of September, we were in Tallahassee trying to find two missing teenagers. On the twenty-ninth of September, we were looking into the death of the schoolteacher who was burnt to death by her students in New Orleans. And, as Blake pointed out, we did just get back from Rochester."

He paused for a moment, frowning. "In fact," he said eventually, the words coming out slowly, "there's no obvious pattern to the locations of these murders other than us."

.

"Agent Jacob MacKay," a tall, thin, blond man said, holding out his hand to shake Hotch's. "Internal Affairs Division. Unit Chief Cruz contacted us regarding your situation."

Hotch stared at the man. "Internal Affairs?" he repeated.

"Yes, Agent Hotchner," MacKay said, nodding. "We are investigating your unit due to suspicions aroused by your latest case. The evidence suggests that one of your team could be the killer?"

Hotch's eyes were piercing jewels, harder than diamond and more fiery than flames. "None of my team is capable of this," he told MacKay.

"The evidence says otherwise," MacKay countered. He gestured to the two agents behind him. "Kim, Romero, remove the photographs and files for this case from this room."

Kim and Romero moved past MacKay and started collecting the evidence into boxes.

"Look," Hotch said, stepping closer to MacKay, "Nobody in this room is guilty of these murders. You can leave my team alone."

MacKay raised his eyebrows. "Considering the circumstances, Agent Hotchner," he said, "that is not an option. We may have a serial killer in the FBI. We are not going to take any chances." He paused, glancing around the room. "Look, Agent Hotchner, I understand that this is your team. You don't want to believe any of them are capable of this. Maybe they aren't, but at the minute we have a very plausible accusation to investigate, and letting your team see the evidence would compromise that investigation. So, if you don't mind, we'd like to do our job."

Just then, Kim and Romero exited with the boxes of evidence, leaving the room bare, but MacKay didn't move. "We will be keeping each of you in separate rooms during the investigation," he informed them. "When Kim and Romero return, they will escort you, individually, to these rooms, where you will later be interrogated by a member of my team."

Hotch glared at MacKay. "You're treating my team like suspects," he accused.

MacKay tipped his head slightly to one side. "Agent Hotchner," he said, "your team  _are_  suspects."

.

"This is weird," Sam said. "Look."

Dean looked at the newspaper. "Yeah, so someone killed a guy in Rochester. Probably just some punk kid. Might be a hate crime – he looks Chinese, right?"

"Korean," Sam corrected. "There's a difference. But that's not what I'm talking about." He gestured to his laptop. "Nobody has any idea how Seo Yun Jung was killed – in fact, the only mark left on his body was the imprint of some kind of chain around his neck."

"Right," Dean said. "Mysterious killing. Totally worth investigating. Sam, there's a bunch of friggin angels out there trying to kill us, and we're not even sure this is our kind of thing."

Sam shook his head. "It's not the only one. I've found eleven more, all found in their bathtubs, starting in late 1999 in this tiny town called Mars in Pennsylvania. It's a little north of Pittsburgh -"

"Mars?" Dean questioned. "Who names a town after a planet?"

"Actually, it was probably named after the Roman god of war," Sam said. "Who the planet was also named after. Anyway, there were a total of two of these deaths in Mars, the first in 1999 and the second in 2000. There's another three in Pittsburgh after that, then they move south to Virginia, where they've been happening ever since."

"So Pennsylvania to Virginia," Dean said. "Looks like a serial killer who moved house."

"Yeah, except the last four murders weren't in Virginia," Sam told him. "Los Angeles, Tallahassee, New Orleans and Rochester. Dean, no serial killer changes cities for every kill."

"Maybe he got tired of Virginia?" Dean suggested.

"That's also when the necklace started appearing," Sam said. "Which alerted the FBI – the method's exactly the same for every kill, so it picked up on their radar. The earlier ones didn't."

"So how do we know they're even connected?" Dean asked. "Look, Sam, I know you're looking for something to do, but there's nothing here."

"Their wrists," Sam said.

"What?"

"Every victim had evidence of self-harm on their wrists," Sam explained. "Not enough to kill them, but enough that someone would have seen it. At the time of death, it was pretty much healed, but photos and videos of the victims in the week or so before their deaths confirmed it hadn't been there beforehand, for almost all of the victims."

Dean sighed. "And you want to check it out," he said.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I mean, this is a pretty active killer, Dean."

"Okay," Dean said, "I'll get Baby out."

.

Reid sat alone in the interrogation room. He wasn't cuffed - apparently Internal Affairs hadn't seen the need – but it wasn't like there was much he could do right now anyway. He stared glumly into the one-way glass, a mirror to him, wondering if anyone was watching from the other side.

The murders didn't make sense. None of the team was capable of this, he was sure, but if he were to assume it was one of them... It wasn't. They didn't fit the hastily-worked-out profile in his mind. Of course Garcia was automatically cleared; she'd only been to New Orleans with them, none of the other scenes.

From what he'd heard about the crimes so far, they were looking for an organised killer. He knew the standard profile. White male, twenty-five to forty-five, with above average intelligence and at least a basic knowledge of forensics.

He went through the team, one by one, trying to fit them into the mould. JJ and Blake were female; Morgan was black; Rossi and Hotch were above the age range. Nobody fit.

Except.

He shook his head. He knew  _he_ hadn't done it – he would remember doing it. Wouldn't he?

His thoughts turned to his mother, who needed medication just to remember which day of the week it was. Schizophrenia was hereditary; he'd spent years being afraid that his mother's fate would come for him. He was still afraid of that.

And... What if?

What if a combination of his line of work and his mother's condition had eventually tipped him over the edge, flung him so far from sanity that he didn't even notice the difference? What if part of him – the part of him that was thinking now, rational, consistent, knowing full well it was a Tuesday afternoon – refused to remember what he had done because thought he'd never, ever do that? What if he  _didn't_  remember?

He shook his head. He would have noticed, the team would have noticed, if something was  _that_  wrong. They would have said something, or asked if he was okay. He would have had headaches, or something would have happened to let him know that things were different now.

He closed his eyes, trying his best to convince himself.

It  _couldn't_  have been him.

.

"Four murders," Agent Romero, a woman with strawberry-blonde hair and startling emerald eyes, said accusingly. She glared at Morgan from behind her hooked nose. "Your team consists of the only people who could have committed these crimes, Agent Morgan. My money's on you."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

Romero nodded, scraping her chair back and standing up. "Yep. You," she confirmed. "You're the only one of your team who has a prior criminal record -"

"That was expunged," Morgan interrupted.

"- and you have been suspected of being a murderer in a previous case in Chicago," Romero finished.

"That," Morgan said, more angrily now, "was not me, Agent."

Romero walked around the table so she was on the same side as Morgan. "I know," she told him, "but they must've had a good reason to suspect you, or else you wouldn't have been arrested, Agent Morgan."

Morgan glared at the agent. "The man who arrested me held a grudge against me," he told her. "He was determined to find a way to pin the crimes on me."

Narrowing her eyes, Romero said, "He had a gut feeling, didn't he? He knew something was wrong with you. He knew you'd eventually snap and – bam! Murder!"

Morgan turned away from the agent, towards the one-way window. He wondered who was watching from behind – MacKay? Kim? Or were they busy interrogating the rest of the BAU?

"Agent Romero," Morgan said, making his voice as sincere as he could, "I did not kill these people."

"The first victim was African American," Romero continued, as if Morgan hadn't spoken. "Killers usually target those of their own race, don't they, Agent Morgan? Why'd you change after you killed Hays? Did you realise we'd link your team to these murders? Did you realise how obvious it'd be if they were all African American? Is that why you changed your MO, Agent Morgan?"

"No, Agent," Morgan said, his dark eyes making contact with Romero's green ones for the first time. "I am  _not_  the killer you're looking for."

She walked behind his chair, placing her hands on his shoulders and leaning down behind his left ear. "I don't like liars," she whispered. "So why don't you tell me the truth, Agent Morgan? This interview might go a little better if you do."

"That is the truth," Morgan promised.

Agent Romero laughed as she walked away from Morgan and sat down in her chair again. "Let's say I believe that," she said. "Which of your team do  _you_  suspect, Agent Morgan?"

Morgan shook his head. "I don't believe any of my team are capable of killing someone," he growled.

Romero leant towards him. "Then, Agent Morgan," she said, "give me one good reason why you shouldn't be our primary suspect right now."

.

"I want my phone call," JJ demanded as soon as an Internal Affairs agent walked into her room. She recognised the agent – Eric Kim, an agent of Asian descent who'd attended Prentiss' funeral despite hardly knowing her – and he nodded to her straight away and left the room. He left the door behind him open, but JJ knew better than to leave. It would make her look much more suspicious, and that wasn't exactly the best thing right now.

As soon as Kim returned with the phone, JJ took it off him and dialled Will.

"Hey," she said when he picked up, "I'm not gonna be home tonight."

"I've been tryin'a call you," Will told her. "You've been busy?"

"Um," JJ said, "no. Not really. There were some murders, and they think someone in the BAU is responsible." She caught the warning expression on Kim's face. "I don't think I'm supposed to talk about it."

Will paused. "Shall I put Henry to bed, then? He wan'ed to stay up 'til you got home, but..."

"Well, I wanted to talk to him," JJ said. "Can you put him on?"

"Sure thing," Will answered, and a few seconds later it was Henry on the line.

"Hey, momma," he said, "did you get another case? You goin' somewhere again?"

JJ smiled slightly at the sound of her son's voice. "No, honey," she told him, "but I'm not gonna be able to come home tonight, okay?"

"Tomorrow night?" Henry demanded.

JJ pressed her lips together. "Maybe," she said.

.

Dean pulled into a gas station a few miles out of Quantico. "You sure this is the best place to go?" he asked. "It's gonna be crawling with FBI."

"Nobody's looking for us," Sam reminded his brother. "They all think we're dead, remember?"

"Yeah," Dean said, "but we were on the top of their Most Wanted list because of those Leviathan freaks. They're gonna know our faces, Sam."

"We were on that list for a week," Sam said. "Not exactly long enough to make a huge impression on them."

"Okay," Dean said, hopping out to fill up the gas tank. The door thudded shut behind him. "It's your fault if we get caught. Or -" He leant down to look at Sam through the window. "- is this about that agent, who, may I remind you, also thinks you're dead, along with the rest of the FBI?"

Sam sighed, remembering the fiasco two years ago when the Leviathans had disguised themselves as the Winchesters and gone on a killing spree, putting Sam and Dean's faces at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list. In the end, Sam and Dean had managed to use the Leviathans and a helpful sheriff from Ankeny to fake their deaths, which was extremely useful in getting the FBI off their tail. However, during the week, Sam had convinced Dean to turn themselves over to an FBI agent who they had no guarantee remembered him, on the condition that the press didn't find out about their arrest. Of course, the story had leaked, meaning Sam and Dean's trap for the Leviathans wouldn't work, and the Winchester brothers had been forced to make their escape, only to find out that the Leviathans had already committed their next massacre far enough away that it was impossible for the real Winchesters to have gotten there in time. They didn't know if their names had actually been cleared for the killings, but they were pretty sure JJ's team, at the very least, believed that they were innocent. And, of course, that they were dead.

"It's not about her," Sam said. "Dean, I hardly know her."

"You had no problem going to her last time," Dean reminded his brother.

"Yeah, when were at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list," Sam said. "We don't need to drag JJ into this."

.

"Agent Rossi," MacKay said as he entered the room, "I hoped I'd get to interview you."

"Agent MacKay," Rossi greeted him.

MacKay sat down in the chair opposite Rossi's, and the two agents looked at each other for a moment. Two pairs of eyes narrowed as the agents sized each other up.

"Rather uncomfortable chairs, these, aren't they?" Rossi said eventually.

MacKay smiled a little. "You could say that," he admitted. "Look, Agent Rossi, I don't think anyone thinks you did this -"

"You accuse my team," Rossi said, "you accuse me, too, MacKay."

MacKay looked down at the table. "There's no way you could have known, Agent Rossi," he said. "Serial killers are good at hiding things, especially organised ones, and a killer who is also a profiler would know exactly what to hide."

"That's not the point," Rossi told him.

MacKay looked up at Rossi then. "What is?"

After a pause, Rossi said, "Has the press got hold of this yet, MacKay? What are they saying about the FBI?" He watched as MacKay flinched a little, a hardly-noticeable expression that lasted barely half a second, and he had his answer. "That's the point. You accuse someone in the FBI of murder, MacKay, and suddenly the whole FBI is to blame. You accuse someone in the BAU of murder... Do you think the BAU is even going to exist after this, MacKay? Because we'll take the blame, and people will believe our profiles even less. I mean, we couldn't even profile one of our own! How are we going to profile a stranger?"

MacKay didn't have an answer. The silence stretched out, minute after minute.

Eventually, Rossi said, "You really should consider requesting some new chairs for in here."

.

The shopkeeper at the gas station was watching the news when Dean walked in.

"Hey, kid," the man said, smiling, as Dean slapped some money on the counter alongside some pie he'd spotted. He began counting the money, and then put the pie in the bag.

Dean, however, had turned his attention to the news.

"Jason Hays, Marcus Ellis, Monica Clarke and Seo Yun Jung are the four victims that have been murdered within the past four months, all in different cities and different states. In fact, an informant from the FBI, who we cannot name, has told us that the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit was in all the same cities at the time of each murder. The informant has told us that the Internal Affairs Division has the entire BAU in custody, and they are being treated as suspects. However, this leaves the public to wonder – can the FBI really keep us safe, if one of their own can kill unnoticed for four months? We'll bring you updates on this story as it develops."

"Kid?" the shopkeeper said, glancing from Dean to the news. "Hey, don't look so alarmed. I bet everyone'll have forgotten about this in a matter of months. They'll find whoever it is, and that'll be that. Everyone'll carry on as normal."

"I gotta go," Dean said, turning and rushing out of the shop. The shopkeeper stared after him.

.

"Great," Sam said as they pulled out of the gas station. Dean had just finished explaining to him that JJ's team were the suspects in the case, as far as the FBI were concerned. "So now we gotta break JJ out of custody."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "We do?"

"JJ grew up in Pennsylvania. What happens when they realise that the murders in Quantico and Pittsburgh are connected?" Sam reasoned. "JJ's going to end up being charged for all the murders – eleven of them. We've gotta get her out before they put more security around her."

Dean nodded. "Okay," he said, "you got a plan?"

.

Kim had left JJ alone again. He seemed to have a habit for leaving the door open.

She sighed. Internal Affairs were wasting their time – it was more likely that the BAU was being stalked, somehow, than that one of them was a killer. Interrogating the team wasn't going to get them anywhere.

A loud beeping sound interrupted her thoughts, making her jump. It took her a moment to realise that it was the fire alarm. She heard footsteps outside, and voices; MacKay escorting Hotch outside, Kim with Reid, Romero with Blake. She wondered whether she should leave, or wait for an escort herself.

That was when Sam Winchester walked into the room.

"Hey," he greeted her, "did they cuff you?"

" _Sam?_ "

"JJ," Sam said, in a voice that meant, ' _I don't have time for this'_. "Did they cuff you?"

"No," she answered, shaking her head.

He nodded, glancing out of the door for a second to check the corridor was clear. "Good. Come on," he said, opening the door more so that she could get out.

"Sam, what -" she began, but then she stopped. He had to have a good reason for turning up in her life again at this moment, and she was pretty sure he didnt't mean any harm. His body language didn't suggest that, at least. She weighed her options for a moment, and then, deciding it was better to disappear than for MacKay and his team to find her talking to someone who'd once been top of the FBI's 'Most Wanted' list, she walked out. He followed, closing the door behind her.

She turned to him. "Which way?" she asked.

"Follow me," he instructed, and started down the corridor.

.

Once the firemen had scoured the building and found that, in fact, there was no fire, the FBI were let back inside. Agent MacKay, still with Hotch, was approached by Anderson.

"Where's Agent Jareau?" MacKay demanded.

Anderson shivered a little in the cold. "She wasn't in her room, Sir," he told MacKay. "I went to escort her down, and she had already left."

"And you didn't come to find me straight away because...?"

"I couldn't find you, Sir," Anderson said.

"Do you know where Agent Jareau is now?" MacKay's voice was getting louder and angrier with every word he said.

"No, Sir," Anderson said. The cold made him shiver again.

"You better find her then, hadn't you, Agent Anderson?" MacKay ordererd.

"Yes, Sir."

.

Sam opened the door of the Impala to let JJ inside.

"Sammy?" Dean asked.

"It's me," Sam told him. "I got her. I don't think anyone saw me, but they'll probably go through the security tapes when they realise JJ escaped. It won't take them long to figure it out."

Sam shut the door behind JJ and climbed into the front seat. "We should get out of Quantico, though. They'll have eyes everywhere pretty soon."

Dean nodded, and soon the Impala's engine was roaring as they drove down the road.

"Is anyone going to tell me what this is about?" JJ asked. She was watching Dean carefully, remembering the file she'd received after the first St. Louis murder. She'd turned it down; it was the same time the Keystone Killer had returned, and the team had worked that case instead.

Sam twisted around in his seat to look at JJ. "I'd have thought that'd be something you'd ask as soon as I appeared," he said.

"You seemed to want to get out of there," JJ explained. "I figured it could wait."

Dean scoffed. "And, what, you automatically trusted him?" he asked. "You'd never make a hunter."

"Whenever you two turn up alive," she said, "it seems to be with good reason."

"That would be a reasonable explanation, except last time I checked, the entire FBI thinks I'm a pyschopath," Dean countered. "Or,  _was_ , anyway."

"You weren't the one who came for me," JJ said. "Sam did."

Dean looked at Sam for a moment, raising his eyebrows. Sam responded by rolling his eyes and turning back to JJ.

"Okay," he said, "how much do you know about us?"

JJ blinked. "Dean killed two women and attempted to kill another in St. Louis; you both took over an armed bank robbery a year later, which resulted in the deaths of several hostages; only a few months after that you got tripped by a motion sensor in a police station, only to break out of jail less than a week later; and you were supposed to die in an explosion which killed an FBI agent, but later turned up alive and are suspected of setting that explosion. You're also suspected of other crimes such as credit card fraud, breaking and entering, impersonation, grave descecration and grand theft auto."

"That," Dean said, "is quite a long list."

"After what happened two years ago, I did some reading," JJ said. "I made sure I knew everything about you, in case you turned up again. I wasn't entirely convinced you were dead."

Sam nodded. "You missed something," he said. "I beat up a cop once. He saw the blood on my sleeve, but he didn't get to arrest me 'til a year later."

JJ's eyes widened. "Sam -"

"Don't worry," he said, "I've never -"

"What?"

"Killed anyone," Sam finished. His voice had gone quiet. "But I have."

"Sammy," Dean said, and there was a sort of warning in his voice.

JJ's heart began to beat faster.

Had she been wrong about Sam Winchester?

.

Agent MacKay walked into the interrogation room which David Rossi was currently sitting in. He walked around the table and leant against the wall next to the one-way window. His eyes searched Rossi's face.

"You don't know anything," MacKay eventually said.

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "You sound serious."

"Tell me about Agent Jareau," MacKay requested, sitting down on the chair. "What has her behaviour been like the past few weeks? Has she talked about anyone new in her life, someone she'd never mentioned before? Has she been more secretive than usual?"

Rossi opened his mouth to tell him than everything had been the same, but then he closed it, remembering JJ and Cruz outside the elevator. She'd certainly been acting differently – the whole team had been able to tell that something was off – and Cruz turning up had only amplified that.

MacKay, sensing Rossi's discomfort, leant forwards. "What is it, Agent Rossi?"

Rossi said nothing.

"Okay," MacKay said, leaning back. "Let's try something different. Where is Jennifer Jareau, Agent Rossi?"

Surprised, Rossi blinked. "I would assume she's in an interrogation room with one of your other agents," he replied. Silently, he considered the agent's question. If they didn't know where JJ was...then JJ had escaped.

MacKay narrowed his eyes. "Do you know who pulled the fire alarm?"

"Nope," Rossi said, shaking his head.

MacKay nodded and stood up, leaving the room abruptly. Rossi stared after him, wondering about JJ. She was starting to look suspicious, it was true – but even MacKay had to know she didn't fit the profile.

.

"Did they keep the tape from Baltimore?" Dean asked.

 _Stay calm_ , JJ reminded herself. "The Giles case?" she questioned. "I read the file. Your names were cleared."

Dean nodded. "Was the confession tape included?" he asked again.

JJ blinked. "Confession?" she echoed.

"Guess it wasn't," Dean muttered, and then spoke louder so that JJ could hear. "I told them I'd confess," he told her, "and they videoed it."

"If you confessed," JJ questioned, frowning, "why were your names cleared?"

"I didn't," Dean explained. "I told them they were looking for a vengeful spirit. Which, incidentally, seems to be the same thing killing people now."

JJ opened her mouth, and then closed it. Oh.

"We needed to get you out before they connected the murders in Pittsburgh and Quantico to the ones they already have," Sam informed her. "The MO's slightly different for the first seven – no necklace imprint – so that's why they haven't picked up on it yet."

"The first seven?" JJ repeated. "There's eleven murders?"

"Yup," Sam said.

JJ searched in her mind for a way to tell the brothers that ghosts don't exist, but she knew it would most likely only anger them. Her best shot, right now, was to just go with it. Let them do their thing, and pretend she believed them. She was less likely to die that way.

She watched the brothers carefully. It was strange, but they didn't seem like killers, not really. Maybe they were just good actors, and that was how they'd gotten so many people convinced they'd saved their lives.

She swallowed, realising she'd got herself into this mess. Nobody knew she was in danger. Nobody was going to come and save her. They all just thought she'd escaped.

She was as good as dead.

.

Morgan looked up to see Agent Romero return. She stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed, for a second, before shutting the door and sitting down opposite him.

"We looked at the security tapes which captured Agent Jareau's escape," she said.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Nobody told me JJ escaped," he told her.

Romero ignored him. "What is her connection to Sam and Dean Winchester?" she demanded to know.

Surprised, Morgan paused for a moment. It was a long time since JJ had revealed to the team that she'd once known Sam Winchester, and – after the brothers' brief stint on the Most Wanted list and subsequent deaths – he didn't expect it to be something that came up again.

"She knew Sam Winchester when she was a kid," he told Romero. "I don't know if she ever met Dean."

Romero nodded. "You found this out when?"

"Two years ago," Morgan replied. "The case was slightly confusing, but our theory was that two partners disguised themselves as Sam and Dean Winchester and went on a killing spree."

"A theory you never proved," Romero pointed out, "and a very... _implausible_  theory, too."

"The bodies of the imposters were destroyed before anyone could get a look at them," Morgan replied, "but we were pretty sure, mainly due to the fact that the Winchesters' escape in Quantico was almost simultaneous with the massacre in St. Louis."

Romero looked at Morgan for a moment, nodded, and then left.

.

"If Agent Jareau is now your main suspect," Hotch said, "why don't you let us out of here?"

"Comparing stories," MacKay responded. "Getting more information. You've done it before, Agent Hotchner, you know why."

Hotch nodded. His face was tense, and MacKay could tell that he was angry, but he wasn't saying anything.

"Tell me about Agent Jareau's recent behaviour," MacKay said.

Hotch's eyes flared. "Agent Jareau is not responsible for this," he told MacKay, his voice almost a growl.

Sighing, MacKay said, "I never said she was."

"But that's what you think," Hotch accused.

MacKay didn't reply. After a long moment, he said, "Agent Jareau's behaviour, please, Agent Hotchner?"

.

"Where are we going?" JJ asked.

"Somewhere safe," Sam told her, glancing at her face in the rear view mirror. "You okay, JJ?"

"Yes," she replied automatically, although there were countless adjectives she'd use to describe herself right now before  _okay_  even crossed her mind. Scared. Stupid. Dead woman walking.

Sam narrowed his eyes at her reflection. She didn't look okay – he could tell her blood was pulsing through her body slightly faster than usual. He'd bitten into enough demon-infested humans to know how the blood flowed...

 _Don't think of that, Sam_ , he reminded himself.  _Not now._

"Hey, JJ," he said, "Rosa gave you a necklace, right?" Like the necklace imprints on the victims' necks.

Dean glanced over at Sam. "Rosa?"

"My sister," JJ informed him, before looking over at Sam. "And she did. Why?"

Sam glanced at Dean, who looked slightly confused – of course, he didn't know what had happened to Rosa – and then back to JJ. "Normally, angry spirits are created by violent deaths," he said. "Suicide counts as a violent death. And the recent victims, at least, had a necklace imprint around their necks."

JJ's eyes widened. "You think –  _Rosa?_ "

Dean swerved, so suddenly that both Sam and JJ jumped, and he pulled over at the side of the road. They'd left Quantico hours ago, and they were now on a narrow country lane in the middle of nowhere. "Did Rosa self harm?" he asked, remembering the mysterious evidence of self harm on the victims' wrists which hadn't been there until they died.

"She, uh," JJ began, and then swallowed. "She killed herself by slitting her wrists."

"In a bathtub?" Sam questioned.

"Um," JJ said, "yeah. I found her there."

The Winchesters' voices spoke in unison immediately after JJ confirmed their theory. "Where's Rosa buried?"

JJ shook her head. "She wanted to be cremated," she muttered. "She was never..."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, and then Sam questioned gently, "JJ? Where is her necklace now? Do you have it?"

JJ glanced between the two brothers, noting the expressions on their faces. They were waiting. Determined. Kinda sympathetic – Sam was, at least.

They were killers. She could see that now. She could see it in their faces – they were preparing to kill.

Her best chance would be to give them the necklace. Then they'd convince her that it was the right thing to do, convince her they'd saved her life somehow, and maybe take it off to some pawn shop somewhere, make some money out of it...

But it was her best chance of survival.

She reached into her pocket, where she'd placed the necklace before she'd been called to the conference room earlier, and pulled out the thin gold chain. "This is it," she told Sam.

He nodded and scooped it out of her hand. "Salt and burn?" he said to his brother.

Dean nodded. "Salt's in the trunk," he said. "I'll get it."

He made to open the door, but his hand never closed around the handle. The car was thrown sideways with the force of a hurricane, and it rolled until it was at least twenty minutes away from the road.

Dazed and in pain, JJ tried to make sense of what had just happened. It had been perfectly calm before, no weather to speak of. And yet...

For one half-second, she considered the possibility that the Winchesters were right.

And then her mind went dark.

.

"Sammy?" Dean yelled.

There was no sound. Then a yelp of pain. And then Sam's voice yelled, "Get the salt!"

Dean punched the window out of his way – a half-formed apology to his Baby formed subconsciously in his mind, but he couldn't concentrate on that when he might not live through the next five minutes – and he scrambled out of the upside-down Impala. Rolling over on the damp grass, he found his bearings, and crawled over to the trunk, which had been broken open by the crash, and grabbed the first thing that came to his hand. He read the label. Rock salt.

He split the packet open, spilling salt over his knees. It span upwards in a miniature tornado as Sam appeared, face bloody and nose broken, by his side. He dropped the necklace in the pile of salt, and Dean flicked the lighter that was already in his hand, and, hand shaking, accidentally dropped it on the necklace.

The fire caught immediately, though the wind blew strongly towards it, trying its best to put out the burning flame. After a minute, the wind faltered, faded, and stopped completely.

Relief was the first thing they felt. Dean exhaled, pushing himself upwards on shaking legs with the help of his car, and Sam grinned at their success, feeling the breath in his lungs after the rush of adrenaline that came with the hunt.

Dean glanced inside the car, trying to assess the damage that had been done. Broken windows, bent-in door, broken body in the back seat.

"Dammit," he growled, yanking the door off and climbing in towards her. "Hey! JJ? Can you hear me?"

Sam looked across and then clambered to his feet, almost falling because he moved so fast. "Is she okay?" He hurried across to the car, the opposite side to Dean, and pulled the door open. Dean was busy pulling JJ's seatbelt off her, and Sam helped him lower her down to rest on the roof – now the floor – of the car.

"Is she -" Dean began.

Sam reached across and pressed two fingers against JJ's neck, hoping with all he had that the woman he hardly knew was somehow still breathing.

Her skin was slippery, covered in blood, painted red with her injuries, but from beneath it he could feel the steady pulse, pulse, pulse of blood through her arteries that meant she was alive.


End file.
